


It’s a sterrennacht

by shoestringjoe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Louis, Fluff, M/M, Making Love, Pining, Smut, a bit of angst?, bottom!Louis, harry plays tennis, i would've written top!louis but PROMPT, lots of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:37:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoestringjoe/pseuds/shoestringjoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>louis could remember the first time he saw harry.  it wasn’t as elaborate as how one would imagine it to be. having watched sappy romance films for pretty much all of his life, louis had thought meeting the boy he would (eventually) know as Harry Styles would have been an extravagant affair. but it wasn’t really like that.</i>
</p><p>or, an au where louis is a pining artist, harry plays tennis and they’re all in high school.</p><p>based off a prompt (see: end notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s a sterrennacht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshineamaryllis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineamaryllis/gifts).



> I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to fulfil all your prompts, for many reasons, one being that I’ve never taken art and I’ve never familiarised myself with tennis (like, ever). but i hope it lives up to your expectations!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the boys nor do I associate with any of them, everything in this fic is purely fictional.
> 
> Warnings: very very brief implications of homophobic language.. and swear words. obviously.
> 
> thank you yj for helping me write this at 4am hehe and thank you to my betas j and l as well ♡ ♡

**

“he’s not real, zayn,” louis sighed as he ran his brush across the palette he has on his left hand. “i’ve just decided.”

“he’s the captain of an existing team, lou, pretty sure he is. why’s it so hard to talk to him? isn’t he in some of your classes?”

“class,” louis corrected. “he’s in only _one_ of my classes – art.”

“and?”

“and, nothing. there’s no reason for me to go and talk to him. he’s harry styles, captain of the tennis team. I can’t just go walk up to him and strike up a conversation. he probably thinks I’m weird.”

“you’re overthinking, oh my god, seriously louis if you’re not going to talk to him until we graduate I will personally tie him up and ship him off to your house.”

louis stopped where he was filling out his canvas with cobalt to glare at his friend who was sprawled on the chairs behind him, tapping into his phone.

“and anyway some of his friends are assholes,” zayn says, oblivious to louis’ death stare. “besides niall, probably. y’know, that blond guy who plays rugby, the one who harry hangs out with? he seems like an ace lad.”

“niall is ace to everyone,” louis pointed out. the smell of acrylic was starting to overwhelm him. maybe he should take a break. “how do you know he’s an asshole, have you spoken to him?”

“well, no-“

“ _exactly_.”

“so haven’t you.”

“touché.”

zayn smiled smugly and stretched his legs, tired from sitting around for a straight two hours, watching louis paint and listening to him ramble on about the curly haired star tennis player of the school (and state, probably).

“anyway, are you sure you wouldn’t be able to make it to my show? I really need a muse to present on the night itself and you know I’m not comfortable asking people I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, lou, but my mum’s been crazy about this trip and my sisters are going to be at my dad’s for the summer, you know that.”

louis groaned because _yes he’s aware_ he just wished it could magically not happen.

the door crashed open then, and louis nearly dropped the bottle of thinner he was holding. because the intruder was wearing a very, very short black dress and louis could practically see his briefs. he also has curly hair which was damp, his face flushed red, probably from the running, louis reasoned. but what the hell?

“what the hell?” louis mentally slapped himself because he’s never spoken to this son of a Greek god and the first thing he could say was what the hell? louis wanted to stab his eye multiple times with a paint brush. there was one lying at an arm's length away. how convenient.

“sorry, but,” the boy panted as he leaned heavily against the door, an arm on his chest, trying to calm his breathing. “can you hide me for a while? you can ask me about it later, just please hide me.”

louis rushed over to the art supplies closet and opened it, and harry went in, signalling at louis to close the doors. this was all too weird. harry styles is weird. louis doesn’t know what to make of it.

there was a knock on the door then, and louis looked at zayn, who was acting as if nothing has changed and they were still talking about a certain someone who was literally in the closet (ha ha louis cringed at himself for that joke, because harry styles wasn’t openly gay but louis could, you know, feel the vibes. or something. he's on what louis has labelled a 'gaydar', a combination of the word gay and radar. or maybe it was just hope. whatever.)

“is harry here?” a guy said. he was the burliest of the bunch, and louis recognised him as being niall’s rugby mates. jack or something. “big hair, skinny ass?”

louis rolled his eyes. harry styles does _not_ have a skinny ass. “nope sorry.”

the horde of jocks left the room, and louis knocked once, twice on the closet door. green eyes peeked from inside, making sure the coast was clear. zayn was still on his phone. louis might have to kill him later for not helping out with the situation.

harry stumbled out the closet, but his feet got tangled on some string and he fell forward, and into louis’ chest, and suddenly louis’ mouth was filled with curls. and he would be lying if he said he didn’t almost pee his pants. harry styles was practically hugging him.

zayn chose that moment to clear his throat, and harry stood up, brushing his hands on his black dress. louis just blushed. he could feel his cheeks explode into a million shades of red.

“thanks for hiding me,” harry finally said. his voice was slow and deep and gravelly and louis was trying so hard not to stare. he barely succeeded. “I was taking a shower but they took my clothes and gave me this dress instead and wanted to put it on Instagram, so, no.”

“it’s a nice dress,” zayn offered. harry said thanks.

“hey you’re louis, right? you’re in my art class. your paintings are sick, mate.”

“thanks,” louis mumbled. he just really wanted this conversation to be over.

harry grinned before glancing at his wristwatch, then at the exit door. “listen, my class is starting in a bit, I should probably be going, and stuff. hey I’ll catch you tomorrow, right? Ms Davis fourth period? great. bye, louis! zayn.”

“well,” zayn whistled as he turned to look at louis. “someone’s got a date.”

“I will kill you.”

“you love me too much, babe.”

louis had socked him in the stomach before walking over to the easel. and as much as he tried, he simply couldn’t forget about harry styles. not when he tried to finish his painting, not when he was listening to The Fray as he walks home, and not when he tries to go to sleep. Because all he sees is brown curls and evergreen eyes. _I’m fucked_ , he thinks. _so, so fucked_.

**

louis was fiddling with his charcoal pieces when he felt a presence beside him. he didn’t have to look to see who it was. it was a bit creepy, but hey no one has to know.

“hey, louis.”

“hello.”

“so I was thinking, because you did me a favour yesterday, so I totally owe you.”

“it was nothing, harry, you don’t owe me anything.”

“yes I do and I am a man of my words.”

louis was just about to reply when Ms Davis approached his desk and harry promptly sat on the chair beside his.

“how’s your art show preparations coming along, Mr Tomlinson?”

“it’s great, miss, but um I need a model for the last showcase now that my actual model couldn’t make it to the show.”

“well you still have three weeks, I’m sure you’ll find a new one.”

“I hope so too,” louis sighed.

“good luck, though, you can always ask me if you need anything.”

with a smile, she’s gone, and something finally clicked in louis’ mind. he wasn’t going to ever do this, and he would probably be very annoyed at himself if he didn’t, but.

“let’s talk about that favour you owe me.”

**

“He’s staring at our table, lou, are you even listening?” zayn poked his finger at louis’ shoulder.

louis sighed heavily. “he’s probably staring at the person behind our table, zayn.”

“maybe he likes you.”

and louis laughed at that, because harry styles was captain of the tennis team and probably very straight. probably. but whatever, harry styles certainly did _not_ like him. plus, louis had decided to move on. but if he looks at the curly haired wonder through his fringe, well, no one had to know.

“what? I mean it. there’s nothing to not like about you,” zayn said, deadpanned. “besides your weird tendencies to wake up at 3am and wake everyone up crying over a painting. besides, he’s your muse now? oh shit he’s heading here.”

louis barely had time to react before he felt a hand tap his shoulder. “hey.”

“hey.” eloquent as always.

“you left your book in art.”

“oh,” louis replied, his eyes staring pointedly at zayn, shooting out distress signals. he took the book from harry’s outstretched hand and tried for a smile. at least he hoped it looked like a smile.

“thanks.”

“no problem.” harry smiled back at him, dimples on full display, and called out to niall who was trying to balance a soccer ball on the bridge of his nose. “see you around, mate. you too, zayn.”

**

_hiii this is harry shall I come over when I’m done with tennis practice? :) xx_

**sure, the studio’s open till seven so I can meet you at like five if that’s okay? :)**

_suree, see you :) xx_

**

 **muse** [ _n._ ]: pronounced /mjuːz/ : source of inspiration for a creative artist. _also: influence, inspiration_.

**

the thing about having harry styles as a muse is that louis had no idea what he wanted to paint. he could paint his face, but it’s shallow, as if there’s nothing much about harry styles other than just his face. he wanted to prove otherwise. the problem with that is that louis tomlinson barely knows harry styles.

**

louis could remember the first time he saw harry.  it wasn’t as elaborate as how one would imagine it to be. Having watched sappy romance films for pretty much all of his life, louis had thought meeting the boy he would (eventually) know as Harry Styles would have been an extravagant affair. but it wasn’t really like that.

louis would meet harry down the long and grey school corridors. he would be trying to slot his art sketches into his (already exploding) file with intense concentration and he won’t even hear the delicate ‘click’ when time and space finally aligned themselves so that great things could actually happen.

when louis does get his (already crumpled) sketches into his file, he finally looks up, and there was a boy.

a boy at the end of the corridor, walking towards him. there were no orchestras playing upbeat Disney pieces, nor did the other students around him break into a fast-paced number like they do in the movies. the movies were wrong (how dare they lie to a 10th grader like louis). but even if there were an actual orchestra and synchronised dancing, louis was sure he wouldn’t have noticed.

how could he have the energy to notice such earthly things, when harry’s eyes shone like a stellar explosion taking place? (goddamn, he even had the audacity to have lovely curls in his hair when he already had stars in his eyes. louis was smitten.) how could he have the energy to notice such earthly things, when the pull of harry’s existence on louis’ heartstrings was probably stronger than jupiter’s gravitational pull on all of its moons? how could he have the energy to notice such earthy things when louis felt so otherworldly because of this boy? 

harry walked past louis then, a hint of a smile on his face, and he gazed softly at louis (or maybe louis was imagining it) before bringing his bright green eyes to his feet as he walked away. once the boy was out of sight, louis stumbled a little as he tried to shake himself out of his daze. he decided then that falling in love at first sight wasn’t as elaborate as in the movies. it wasn’t an extravagant affair at all. instead, it was simple, like how the planets rotated round the Sun without so much of a fuss or ruckus. but it sure was out of this world.

and since then, he couldn’t stop painting bits and pieces of harry into all his paintings, be it the green eyes, brown curls, pink lips, the dimples, and he feels like a 12 year old girl head over heels with a crush, and that was the day louis tomlinson fell in love.

**

louis was putting his paintings on the floor, alongside with some others', trying to decide on which five pieces should he display at the art show. it was harder than he thought. louis’ were all pretty shit, in his opinion, so he’s not sure why he was one of the students chosen to display their work. he was pretty engrossed in his deliberations that he barely heard the door click open, followed by a very harried harry styles entering the room.

“sorry I’m late. training was mental.”

“no, it’s fine,” louis said distractedly, only sparing harry half a smile as he freaks out over the art pieces laid out in front of him. “I thought you wouldn’t show up, to be quite honest.”

“hey,” harry says, bumping his hips against louis’. “I’m a man of my words, remember?”

louis looked back at the paintings, trying to hide a smile, and painfully aware that harry was standing millimetres away from him. he feels very warm all of a sudden.

harry let out a low whistle as he looked at the paintings. “wow. are all these yours?”

“not all of them,” louis replied. “I kinda have a problem.”

“what’s the matter?”

“well, I can’t figure out which ones of mine would fit in with those of others’, see?”

there was a moment of silence but then harry says, “would it be very dumb of me if I said they all look like they fit into the same theme?”

“how do they look like they fit into the same theme?” louis squeaked, affronted by harry’s claim. “one of them is of a model and that one over there is a bowl of fruits.”

“technically they’re both models.”

louis hummed in agreement, because yeah he has a point. ah, fuck it. he’ll think about it tomorrow. he needed to talk about his last masterpiece.

“so what do I need to do? lie down like one of your French models?” harry said jokingly, cocking his hip to the side. louis giggled. he looked extremely ridiculous.

“okay so at first I thought, right, since zayn was supposed to be my model and I can paint a portrait of him using charcoal because I felt like it was his element, you know?”

“but you,” louis continued. “I don’t know you, harry styles. I don’t want it to be a 2D portrait of someone where people can only see paint on canvas. everyone has something to tell, and that’s what I think makes a painting… real.”

“so ask me questions.”

“what sort of questions?”

“anything and everything,” harry shrugged. “and in return I ask you some questions as well. to keep it fun.”

“I’m going to give you a forewarning and say that my answers will be boring so please don’t expect too much of me.”

“try me.”

**

louis and harry spent the next couple weeks asking questions back and forth, sometimes while louis is labelling his art pieces and harry is just lounging on some chairs, when louis is putting final touches on his paintings and harry is finishing his assignments.

“what’s your favourite band?”

“1975. what’s your favourite bird?”

“Favourite _bird_? Um, god this is tough. I’m going with… sparrow?”

“Great choice.”

“Okay if you had to combine two ice cream flavours.”

“Peanut butter and grape. This needs to exist.”

“That’s gross, harry.”

“yeah? what about you?”

“vanilla and peppermint.”

“bo- _ring._ ”

“shut up.”

“okay, okay, favourite childhood moment?”

“going to the beach with my dad,” louis had replied quietly.

“yeah?”

“he was a photographer, sort of like me, I guess, but I went into visual arts and I prefer canvas over film any day. we would go to the beach and we would have a great time.”

the both of them were silent for a while, louis relishing the past memory, one that seemed so long ago, one he has never shared with anyone besides zayn, and one he had told harry because he felt safe and comfortable around him.

“okay, my turn,” louis grinned, changing the topic. “top five celeb crushes.”

“ooh, that’s a good one. I’m going with… rihanna, Beyoncé, megan fox, kate beckinsale and… frankie sandford?”

louis had tried not to overthink things, because one, having female celebrities as top five celebrity crushes doesn’t mean that harry’s not straight (louis’ still hoping), and two, okay fine the boy’s probably as straight as a bean pole and louis is wasting his time fantasising over harry goddamn styles. (also three, one that louis has always been brushing off, is harry style’s rumoured womaniser reputation.)

“lou?” harry asked, snapping louis out of his reverie. “you okay?”

louis turned his head to look at harry, a small smile ghosting on his lips. “’m fine.”

**

there were only three days before the show and louis still hasn’t finished his collection. he hadn’t told harry. instead, he had convinced harry that the piece was actually done at his house so that he can paint whenever he wanted to, but it didn’t even exist. he had worried that it might mean that harry would go back to his normal routine which most certainly does not involve louis, but he stayed, and proved to be a great help, helping louis label things and give his insights to some of the paintings.

“you are going to be there, right?”

“of course, like I said-“

“you’re a man of your words.”

“right.”

“I thought you have a match in the morning though?”

“I’ll make it after. The thing starts at eight, right? I won’t ditch you.”

“you really better not, my future’s depending on this.”

“I _promise_.”

okay. “okay.”

**

one day during lunch, louis was sat with zayn under the huge oak tree by the courtyard, and he sees harry sitting alone by one of the benches, his legs in an indian style position, his smile radiating brighter than all the suns combined into one, and the universe be damned if louis won’t admit that he was blinded by that boy.

how he was warm, and nice, and thoughtful, like the soft whispers of the trees in spring and the breeze from the oceans. because while harry styles might not be in love with louis tomlinson, it didn’t turn out to be an ugly affair. they had shared a friendship and louis deeply appreciated that. he was the rain kissing the leaves, only to be pulled into the soil, deeper and deeper and farther away, but at one point in time, they met, and that was all that matters.

louis stood up and dusted his pants, yelling at zayn that he had a piece to incarnate.

**

on the day of the show, louis received a text from an unknown number.

_ur boyfriend’s straight, love xxxx_

he decided to ignore it, but his phone buzzed again.

_he’s also nt attending ur art show._

**who the fuck are you?**

_no one that concenrs you. :)_

and that’s… whatever. louis will ignore that. he blocked the number and slipped his phone into his back pocket. he has things to do.

**

louis didn’t want to believe the anonymous text, but he couldn’t bite off the paranoia snaking its way into his veins. because harry styles wasn’t here. the art show had been running for a full hour and he was nowhere to be found. louis had tried calling his phone, but it was engaged, and louis thought, fuck it.

it was almost ten and louis knew that harry wasn’t coming. he walked over to the balcony to look at his most prized piece, one that he thought was his best yet, but now it stares mockingly at louis, taunting him with the peach, yellow, red, and green strokes of bright watercolour. the bold dash of black was a stark contrast, but louis had felt as if it was necessary, the black dress, because it was something that had led to all this.

he looks up at the night sky. the stars were there, but the moon wasn’t, like how he was and harry wasn’t.

**

the art show was almost ending, and the crowd was dwindling. it had been more or less a night, and louis was tired, albeit disappointed, because he wasn’t able to fully explain his final piece without the actual muse.

there was a loud ruckus as a group of people stumbled into the gallery, their drunken laughs rudely interrupting the quiet atmosphere. and louis actually recognised these people. he recognised all of them, and he could recognise that one face, standing at the back of the crowd, trying to hold back his laughter at nothing in particular. and louis felt disgusted that he had the nerve to come here and create a scene, knowing how much it meant to louis.

“look, it’s the gay boy,” someone screeched, pointing at louis. louis didn’t know how to respond. he wonders why it’s taking the security guards too long to take them away.

another sneered at louis, throwing derogatory terms at him, but louis wasn’t very affected, per se, because he was sixteen and he has been through that phase, but they were also taunting him because of harry and harry didn’t do anything besides standing there at the sidelines.

so yeah. fuck harry styles.

**

he grabbed his coat and ran past the doors, running out the building. it was freezing. louis reckons it’s about a minus fifteen out, judging by the white dusting the streets and the cars and the buildings. when he reached the bottom of the stairs, his run slowed up to a walk, and he breathed heavily, his laboured gasps mingling with the cold winter air. he was merely a few feet away from the studio when he heard a voice calling out to him.

“louis.” he heard the voice whisper, softly, tentatively, like louis was going to bolt again if it was an octave louder. he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. so he stayed still, his body shivering, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from anger or both.

“I’m sorry. About what happened back there.”

and louis turned around, his words stuck in his throat. because harry was standing under a city lamp and he looked like the fucking sun, and under the dark sky, louis was just a goddamn moon. and he was attracted to him, helpless and pulled in by gravity, even though he knows harry was capable of hurting him, just like how the sun can burn the moon into nothing but a speck of darkness against the even darker universe.

“louis I know I fucked up, and I stayed silent like the coward I was, and you never deserved any of it, but,” harry continued. “but I stand here in front of you to ask for a second chance.”

“you’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“your friends were.”

“louis,” harry pleaded. “please hear me out.”

“ _fuck_ you.”

“I don’t know what to do, okay, I was at the after-match party and I remembered about the show and someone had my phone and people told me they wanted to go to your show so I said fine.”

louis stayed silent, his eyes downcast.

“I never meant to lie and I never intended to break my promise.”

“why?”

“because I really like you and I want to take you out and have walks in the park and eat ice cream and all that dating shit I’ve never… I’ve never actually tried with anyone.”

“you like me?”

harry’s face furrowed in confusion. “why? is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted meekly. “you’re Mr big shot and I’m just someone who paints stuff.”

“you’re such an idiot, tomlinson, if you have no idea how lovely you are. come ‘ere.”

louis felt like the concept of time was non-existent when those words were muttered, because it was probably five seconds or ten minutes or an eternity, but he was enveloped in harry’s warm arms and he could smell home. harry rests his chin on louis’ head, their hands stayed around each other as the snow continued to fall gently around them.

“I saw the painting, you know?” harry mumbled against louis’ hair. “it was the prettiest thing I’ve seen besides you.”

“From the moment I saw you all I could ever think about was how soft your hair would feel when I run my fingers through it,” harry said softly, carding his gloveless hands through louis’ fringe.

“how your skin looks soft under the sunlight streaming from the window,” louis hummed, his eyes closed as harry trailed his fingers along louis’ cold cheeks, his jawline, his chin.

“and how your lips are so sinfully pink and kissable,” harry whispers, his lips warm against louis’ cold ones. louis’ heart was a jackhammer, beating so fast and hard against his ribcage, trying to make sense of what’s happening. because this is real. and then he felt harry’s soft lips on him, the taste of cheap wine and peppermint snaps and gingerbread and louis wanted more, because harry styles was intoxicating and louis was under his spell. he always has been.

harry bit louis’ bottom lip, eliciting a low moan from the older boy, and pulled away, albeit reluctantly. and louis was smiling so wide his face could burst.

“yours or mine?” he asked breathlessly.

**

they barely crashed into the room, their lips still attached, and louis shoved harry onto the bed. he slowly crawled up to harry who was looking sinful, his lips red and swollen, his pupils blown wide and his face flushed pink. he straddles harry’s lap and kisses the boy, slowly and languidly, because he didn’t want to ruin things and he wanted to remember every second of this moment.

the room felt hot, and louis’ clothes were scratchy, and so were harry’s, so they lifted off each other’s shirts and pants until they were both mouthing kisses over bare skin. louis gently pushed harry down but the younger boy flipped him over and and palmed over louis’ clothed crotch, and louis’ breath hitched where he was nibbling on harry’s earlobe.

“I want you, harry,” louis groaned softly, keening at harry’s touch. “I’ve wanted you since I’ve laid my eyes on you, your, ah, your lovely green eyes and jawline, ah, god, please.”

“are you sure?” harry asked. his voice was soft and it was tinted with care and louis almost cried, because he had been pining over harry for over two years and yeah, he was really sure. but harry must have sensed his hesitance because he kissed louis on the lips and asked, “what’s wrong, love?”

louis blushed. “this is my first time.”

“louis,” harry whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to take it away if you’re going to regret it, love.”

louis’ blue eyes bored into harry’s bright green ones. “I promised to myself that I would do it with someone I trust and love, and I trust you.”

“okay. okay, lie down on your back, sweetheart.”

harry walked over to his desk drawer and pulled out a packet of condom and lube and walked back over to the bed. louis was lying on his back with his eyes closed and harry could make out the small scars on his arm where he would ask later on (it was a car accident when he was 10) and he looks like a fallen angel.

he kissed louis’ mouth again, his right hand cupping the back of his neck, his left hand pulling off louis’ boxers entirely. he brushed a finger against his rim, and louis shuddered into the kiss. harry shivered. he squirted some lube onto his hand and spread it over his digits, and louis widened his legs a bit to harry.

when the tip of his finger entered louis’ hole, he gasped, and harry could tell it was from pain, because it was his first time and it was understandably uncomfortable. so he planted soft kisses onto his stomach, louis’ soft muscles jumping at the cold that was harry’s lips.

harry had a full finger in now and louis was slowly adjusting to it, moving his hips to alleviate the uncomfortable feeling. he gasped when harry’s finger hit his sweet spot, and his breath became erratically fast.

“ah, more, haz,” he gasped. harry was happy to oblige. this time, louis took it easier, slowly thrusting his hips down to meet harry’s fingers, intent to get that feeling again. and when harry inserted all three fingers, louis was getting more desperate, a string of curses falling out of his mouth as harry scissors him, making sure that he was loose and ready.

he planted a wet kiss on louis’ lips and their tongues danced against each other’s. harry slipped his fingers out, and louis sighed.

“I’m going to do it now, you’re okay with it still?” harry asked softly, his forehead against louis’ warm one, and louis’ eyes are so blue, like the oceans, and he wanted to drown in it and he thinks he wouldn’t mind if he did. louis nodded fervently, and harry kissed his eyelids, slowly trailing kisses down his face, his neck, his arms, his scars, his stomach, and his thighs.

harry put on the condom and slicked up his dick. he placed his hands on either side of louis’ slender hips, and slowly inserted himself into louis. harry almost cried at the tight warmth but louis was clenching his fists on the bed sheets, his face contorted in pain and pleasure. harry was fully in now, his stomach brushing against louis’ leaking head, smearing precome all over his skin.

“you can, ah, fuck, you can move, harry,” louis panted against harry’s lips. harry pulled back, just enough to leave the head in louis before slowly thrusting deep into the compliant boy. louis moaned softly, and harry continued with his movements until both were breathing harshly into each other’s mouths.

harry could feel pleasure and warmth pool in the lower part of his stomach. “’m gonna come, lou, come with me.” and louis’ hole clenched tightly around harry’s dick, sending them both over the edge. harry kissed louis all through it, and when he’s done, he pulled off the condom, tied it up and threw it over the bed. he snatched a few tissues and cleaned his and louis’ stomachs where louis’ come spread stickily across.

he then lied down beside louis, his eyes drooping. he was tired. he wrapped his arms around the slender boy and embraced him in a hug, and louis happily snuggled into him, giving him a peck on the nose.

“thank you,” louis sighed.

“you were great,” harry smiled into louis’ hair.

“as were you,” louis replied, his voice laced with sated pleasure and lethargy.

“maybe we can try this again with me in a black dress.”

“we discussing our kinks already, styles?

they laughed in the semi-darkness, their hearts beating so loud their neighbours might hear.

"you're an idiot."

" _you're_ an idiot."

"can i go to sleep now?"

harry smiles into louis' hair. "goodnight, love."

**Author's Note:**

> it was based off this prompt: Basically, just a sweet and cute, fluffy story about pinning artist Louis in high school after popular tennis captain Harry. Like, Louis is clueless to Harry loving him too, but they're both too stupid to realize. Maybe, after one of Louis' art shows or Harry's matches, they finally admit to being into each other and fuck sweetly, gently, and slowly. No homophobia, or, too much. And I want actual tennis/art lingo, if possible..? :) (p.s., top Harry would be lovely).
> 
> i hope you liked it? merry christmas!! ♡♡


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